


Only Angel

by loveinslowmotion



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Haylor, Hook-Up, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinslowmotion/pseuds/loveinslowmotion
Summary: The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show is the biggest show of the year, and Harry can't stop looking at one girl.





	Only Angel

**Author's Note:**

> The VSFS we all wanted xx

Pink. Everything was pink.

Except for his outfit. They hadn’t allowed him to wear any of the more _interesting_ suits he favoured; he wasn’t the main attraction, sure, but couldn’t he _at least_ have been given a pink suit? It was the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, for god’s sake.

Harry had worn pink on his way there on his own accord, though, which was satisfaction enough (at least that’s what he was telling himself, anyway). A silk shirt and black jeans, it was what he waited around in in his dressing room in the lead up to showtime. The last thing he wanted was to be the fool who spilled something on their outfit, the first time he had been invited to perform at the iconic runway show.

He didn’t _ordinarily_ have wardrobe mishaps of the like, but he was nervous tonight. It wasn’t just the performance – though he really, _really_ wanted to nail it – but rather it was the woman in the next dressing room down that was stressing him out.

When Harry had found out that Taylor, too, had been invited to perform at this year’s VSFS, his first thought had been an indecent one. He’d seen videos of the last time she had attended, and… well… he was a man. A man who had spent the most recent years of his life utterly attracted to Taylor Swift.

But that ship had long since sailed. So yes, Harry was eager to see Taylor in lingerie again (even if it wasn’t for his eyes only). He thought (he hoped) he could be forgiven for that.

There was just one teensy, tiny problem.

How the fuck was he going to get through the show with his dignity intact?

Dress rehearsals had nearly killed him. Never mind all the stunning models parading about in their underwear, it had been Taylor who he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of. He hardly ever got to see her in person anymore – she was enough to floor him on any given day, but tonight? God, tonight he would let her wrap her fingers around his neck and choke the life right out of him.

Maybe he was being dramatic. But he’d rubbed one out in his hotel room earlier as wise precaution, and he’d still done the same in the deserted male toilets after rehearsal. His body didn’t give a shit about it being dramatic.

Sitting in his designated room with his band, Harry tried to find distraction. Each performer got their own separate space, out of the way of the models walking the show and the large team of hair, make-up, and nail artists who prepped the girls in the hours beforehand. Some of the female performers would go and mingle with the girls – he suspected that’s where Taylor would be, considering she had friends in the show – but there was no way Harry or any of his bandmates were setting foot in there without permission.

“This is a normal day for you. A day in the life of Harry Styles,” his guitarist said, soft spoken as always.

Harry nodded with mirrored faux seriousness. “I constantly find myself surrounded by half naked women.”

He cracked before Mitch did – he always did, dimples popping as a grin took over his face.

“The question is, who are we finding for _you_ to bring back to the hotel tonight?” There were a few groans, even though he was joking. Mostly, anyway. He loved Mitch; he’d be more than happy for him to bed one of the models tonight. At least _one_ of them deserved to get laid.

“You’re not a matchmaker.”

“It’s never too late to try something new.”

“I hope you get smacked in the face by a pair of wings.”

Laughter filled the small space, and Harry leaned back against the sofa with a grin. It was a possibility, and not the worst one, at that.

“Speaking of wings, I don’t see why we weren’t offered any.”

“You’re the only one here who wants to wear wings, H,” his bassist pointed out.

“Girls?” He looked to drummer and keyboard player, who both shook their heads. “Damn.”

While they ridiculously began to imagine the sort of wings he should’ve been presented (seriously, did the organisers not know he would’ve happily worn all-over pink _and_ donned a pair of angel wings?), Harry felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He slipped it out to check the most recent notification, and his heart nearly stopped at the name he read.

With a face he hoped appeared casual, he opened the text from Taylor, his phone already flashing with a new message.

The first was a picture – a selfie, god, she’d sent him a selfie. It had taken her nearly ten minutes to decide on the perfect pout, all pink lips and soft blue eyes accentuated by long false lashes. Along with it she’d written, ‘ _In my dressing room… alone…’_ , followed by her next text, ‘ _Unless you wanna come along’_. It had taken her a while, but she’d decided not to add the winking emoji she’d been tempted to at the end.

Not that it mattered. She didn’t need suggestive emojis to get him to pay attention.

_‘Are you hitting on me with your own song lyrics?’_ he typed back without much thought, not wanting to keep her waiting long. They didn’t have forever until showtime, after all.

_‘Like you haven’t done it before.’_

Harry smiled at the screen. She had a point there.

_‘I’m coming’_ , he typed, pausing before adding, _‘gorgeous.’_

Please, please, _please_ make her smile.

As he rose to his feet, stretching, his bandmates each looked his way. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said casually, “I have someone to see about getting some wings.”

There was laughter, though general disbelief (mostly – you never quite knew with Harry). It wasn’t a coincidence that he was slipping out after checking his phone, but no one was going to call him out on it. Let him have his fun. Being here was practically a man’s wet dream.

Before he was out the door, he heard a call of, “Enjoy the half naked women,” and more laughing, and Harry shook his head, grinning. There weren’t half naked women where he was going.

Except there was. When Taylor answered his knock on the door, she was in nothing but a robe… and very little else underneath.

“I knew it,” she beamed at him once she tugged him inside, locking the door behind him. Harry hesitated a step in front of her.

“Knew what?”

“That you’re pissed you don’t get to wear more pink.”

There was a short pause, Harry briefly glancing down at his shirt, before the smile broke out on his face.

“And what gives you that idea?”

“I could see it during dress rehearsal. You had this vibe like, _I just want to be wearing pink_.” Resting her hand on his shoulder, she glided it slowly over the silk sleeve of his baby pink shirt. “It suits you. I think you should get to wear more, too.”

Even after her hand dropped away, he could still feel the heat of it lingering in its place. Would it always be like that, he wondered? With Taylor, it never seemed to stop.

They were still friends. They still talked, more than most people expected. Despite what the trashy articles had predicted, it wasn’t awkward, the both of them being here. In fact, Harry was glad he had not only his band but a long-time friend with him tonight. Even if that friend did make his palms sweat and his heart race.

“Where did you get this?” Harry asked, returning her touch with one of his own. He fingered the satin sleeve of the robe she had wrapped around her. Pink, decorated with clusters of flowers. All the models were wearing them; he liked it even more on Taylor.

“They gave it to me.” She tilted her head, seeing right through him. “You want one, don’t you?”

“It’s pretty.”

“You totally want one,” she grinned teasingly. “I don’t think they come in your size.”

“I’m not _that_ big.”

“Yeah, but have you _seen_ the girls? I’m surprised there’s one that fits _me_.”

Despite knowing what a comment like that would get her, she still squealed when he lightly cuffed a friendly hand against her arm.

“Don’t tell me you really think that.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how insecure this kind of thing makes me.”

Her gaze held his, long and honest. God. He hadn’t even _thought_ of that. During rehearsal, he had been too busy staring at her… _everything_ , to remember that the woman on stage, who seemed as if she accepted herself so much more these days, was the same woman who had never considered herself sexy, not like the undeniable babes modelling in the show. For all the love that radiated between the girls backstage, of course she felt self-conscious. She didn’t see herself as one of them.

But Harry did.

“D’you know what I think?” he said slowly; she stared unblinking in response. “I think you should just… _shake it off_.”

And there it was: that captivating smile, one he had loved even before they had met.

“I’ve missed you,” Taylor beamed, closing the gap between them as she wrapped her arms about his neck, his finding their place around her waist.

That was the easy thing about their connection. No matter how much time passed between seeing each other, they never really lost touch. It felt like they were picking up where they last left off, as if it had been only a day and not several months.

There was a danger in that, though, which they knew all too well. Often by the time they remembered, it was too late. Most of the time, they didn’t even care.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Harry told her, speaking into her hair. Done up for the show, it was styled in loose curls, the smell of her shampoo overcome with hairspray.

“Are you nervous?” Taylor asked as she pulled away. She gestured for him to sit, and together they plopped down on the small couch, bodies twisted toward each other.

“A bit, yeah.”

“I think the worst part of these things is that the audience – it’s not filled with fans. You don’t know if they like you – they’re not even _here_ for you. It’s so much pressure to do well, to prove you have a right to be here.”

Harry blinked at her. “I wasn’t thinking of any of that.”

Pressing her lips together, Taylor tried to suppress her guilty smile. “You did _so_ well in rehearsal – you’ve got nothing to worry about. Just don’t get too close to any wings.”

“Do _you_ think we should’ve been given wings, too?”

“It never occurred to me that we’d deserve them.” Her gaze floated down momentarily, and he wished he’d undone a few more of his shirt buttons. “Is it weird that I can picture you in them? The wings for your second segment are so pretty.”

“I wouldn’t mind trying on a pair,” he replied nonchalantly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You should, too.”

“I look ridiculous enough without adding wings to the ordeal.”

“You looked lovely in rehearsal.”

“You were just looking at my chest, weren’t you?”

A knowing pause.

“Your arse looked pretty fit, too.”

Slapping his arm, Taylor couldn’t fight her grin, giggling a little. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Could he be blamed? For her performance, she’d been given a fitted romper, long glittering sleeves balancing the short cut around her thighs. The deep V-neckline showed off the work of one of the brand’s signature push up bras, a silver pendant resting above her generous cleavage. All tanned legs and 100-watt smile, Taylor was so fucking gorgeous, it was almost unbelievable.

“Can I try on your robe?” Harry requested, distracting her from her niggle of nerves over what people might think of her appearance.

“I’m wearing it,” she replied obviously.

“You can take it off so I can try it on.”

“I can’t take it off.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t.”

“What, is it stuck to you?” As he flicked the hem of her robe, she slightly shifted her knee away from him. “What’ve you got on underneath?”

“It’s a secret.”

“ _Victoria’s_ Secret,” Harry grinned cheekily, and she rolled her eyes, smiling back. “Show me.”

“You could just try it on later.”

“I want to try it now.”

“Have you ever heard of being patient?”

“Sounds overrated.”

Prodding at her thigh persistently, he tried to annoy her into it. “You’re acting like a child,” Taylor told him, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice, in the slight curve of her lips. He knew she didn’t _really_ mind.

She swatted his hand away when he jokingly attempted to grab the end of the ribbon that tied the gown in place, sighing an exaggerated, “ _Fine_ ,” as she relented. Rising to her feet, she looked at him pointedly, neat eyebrows marginally raised. “This isn’t a strip tease – get up.”

“Are you sure it can’t be a strip tease?” he asked as he did as she instructed, going to undo some more of the buttons on his shirt. It made her laugh – god, did he love making her laugh – and he gave her a dimpled grin.

“It’ll look good against your tattoos, actually.”

And with that thought, Harry efficiently slipped out of his shirt, discarding it on the sofa while Taylor stared at him in surprise. Though after all the years that they’d known each other, his comfort in his own skin really shouldn’t have come as a shock to her by now.

The real surprise was in Taylor. While she claimed it wasn’t a strip tease, Harry certainly _felt_ like it was, as he watched her slowly – so painfully slowly – untie the ribbon around her waist and let the robe fall open, pink satin flowing loosely over her body. He got a first glimpse of her matching underwear set, practical plain black coordinating her outfit, and had to physically stop himself from making a sound when she shrugged the robe off her shoulders and stood posing for him.

They paused for a few seconds that felt like eternity, the sound of Taylor saying his name snapping him out of his reverie.

“Hmm?”

“Your eyeballs look like they’re gonna fall out of your head,” she teased, smirking; she knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he exhaled, tilting his head back, lightly licking his curved lips. Why did he ask for this? Why did he like torturing himself?

“Take a picture of me?” she asked of him, nodding toward her phone sitting on the small table beside them. He snatched it up, letting her unlock it, and took a photo of her that he very much thought deserved to be framed and mounted on a wall (he could think of something _else_ that he’d like to pin to a wall, but thought it best not to mention that).

Once he returned her phone back to the table, Taylor slipped the robe off fully, quickly handing it over to side-track him from her half naked body (fat chance of that). Harry tried to be good, putting it on like he so wanted to, but when he looked back at Taylor, he felt that same twitch between his legs, and he kind of wanted to bury his face in a pillow to hide his shame.

“It looks good on you,” she smiled, all too aware of how much of an effort it was for him to keep his eyes up on her face. “Can I take a picture?”

He posed for her, leaving the gown flowing open to show off his inked torso. He didn’t look nearly as elegant as the girls did, but the fabric was smooth on his skin and he really quite wished he’d get to keep one, too.

After a couple of selfies together, likely to stay between them along with the others, Harry gave in to having her in such close proximity again. “You look incredible,” he murmured, hand still resting on her waist from the pictures. It sent a slight chill up her spine.

“You don’t have to say that,” she returned quietly.

“I don’t. But I mean it.”

Leaning into her gave him a rather impressive vantage point of her cleavage and she knew it. She set her phone aside and turned more toward him, tilting her head a little. “You’ve seen me wear more exciting than this.”

“Not for a long time.”

She looked a bit different, too. A little bigger; healthily slim. Forget the show, he could happily just spend the whole night noticing everything about _her_.

Taking a step back, Taylor took his hands in hers, letting him look at her better. It was crazy, Taylor standing in her underwear and Harry in a Victoria’s Secret robe (that _did_ fit him, he liked to note), but the air between them was filled with a familiar tension that neither wanted to eradicate.

“Gorgeous,” Harry sighed, making the both of them smile.

“Thank you,” Taylor near whispered, and as he closed the distance between them again and their hands released, she wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands ran down the curve of her back, the small fine hairs standing up in his wake. When they riskily reached her arse, his brows shot together in surprise, her nose wrinkling in amusement at his reaction.

“ _Fuck_.”

Taylor laughed, wriggling in his arms as he tried to get a look at her from behind. From the coverage at the front, he hadn’t been expecting her panties to be so skimpy at the back (had he forgotten where he was?).

He tried to spin her around but she resisted, the pair of them giggling as they playfully struggled against each other. They backed up a little, until Taylor lost her balance in the contest and fell sideways onto the couch, dragging Harry down with her. Half crushed by his weight, she attempted to wriggle into a more comfortable position on her back, still laughing as his hands remained on her bare skin.

“Why won’t you show me?”

“’Cause it’s not important.”

“Don’t try to tell me your arse isn’t important.”

Loud laughter ensuing, Taylor slipped a hand into his hair as she grinned up at him; he didn’t give a shit if she messed it up. “You’re insane.”

“ _But I’m your baby_ ,” Harry sung back to her theatrically, her smile growing wider still.

“ _Your baby_ ,” she echoed back.

One day they would stop teasing each other, stop flirting ridiculously with each other’s song lyrics, but today was not that day.

“I suppose tonight I’m your angel,” she said, dropping her voice as she inched him in closer.

“My only angel.”

It needn’t matter who leaned in first, because as soon as their lips crashed together again, nothing but the touch of the other was of any significance. God, it had been… who knows how long; adrenaline immediately flooded through their bodies, every one of their senses sparking with electricity that refused to ever dim. There was nothing in the world like kissing Taylor. _Nothing_.

Desperate from so long apart, they kissed with reckless abandon, Taylor tugging at his hair and running her other hand along his back, Harry pinning her down and grabbing her breast. They moaned into each other’s mouths; they knew they didn’t have long, but they didn’t think they had as little time as they did.

Barely after a minute, a knock on the dressing room door frightened the both of them, gasping away from each other’s lips. Suddenly very still, they stared at each other, wide eyed and swollen lipped.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mouthed at her.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she mouthed back.

They grinned, quickly realising they needed to get themselves out of their compromising position.

Hurriedly, Harry slipped out of the robe and gave it back to Taylor, fumbling back into his own shirt while she covered herself back up. She smoothed her hair, trying to calm her racing heart as she went to answer the door. There wasn’t anything he could do to about the prominence in his pants except hope that whoever had come to visit wasn’t expecting to come inside.

But, of course, they were. It was her back-up singers, come to get ready all together. Shit, were they really due backstage so soon?

“I’d better go change,” Harry thought; the small room seemed suddenly crowded once the girls joined them inside. “Good luck, ladies.”

“See you backstage,” Taylor smiled at him, a secret sparkle in her eyes. Holy _shit_.

He felt like he was floating as he returned to his own dressing room and changed into his first outfit; his lips still tingled with Taylor’s touch as he adjusted his collar and neatened his hair. Now he _knew_ he had to give a good performance. He had to impress her enough to make her want to do that again.

A crew member shortly came to collect them, leading the band through to the side of stage. They were opening the show – as if performing wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, Harry was the _opening act_ , setting up the vibe for the entire night.

He took a few deep, calming breaths, and just before they were instructed on stage, he caught sight of Taylor, all sparkled up for her own segment, who smiled and mouthed, “ _Good luck_ ,” at him. It was just what he needed.

As soon as he stepped on that stage, microphone at the ready, Harry’s nerves vanished as the entertainer in him took control. On stage, he knew _just_ what he was doing.

He wouldn’t call it a perfect performance, but he got through it having fun as always. He’d never done a fashion show before; the atmosphere wasn’t nearly the same as at a concert, but he could see why it was the most watched show of the year. As the girls strutted down the runway, exuding infectious confidence, while Harry sung with everything he had, the room was live with exhilaration and admiration. Here, the girls got to have a personality, and the effect was unmistakeable.

With the path of the models clear, Harry had plenty of room to immerse himself in the thrill of the song (though admittedly not as much as he would were he at one of his own shows) _and_ avoid getting hit by any of the impressive wings the girls donned. All in all, a win, he’d say.

Once he and the band exited the stage, they were congratulated on their way, by models and crew alike. Harry was buzzing with post-performance adrenaline; hopefully it would last until his final act, where he got to close the show. God, _how_ had he managed to even _get_ this gig?

Where he was ushered backstage out of the way before he was next needed, he found Taylor hanging around, watching the show on one of the various screens. She lit up when she saw him, bouncing over on her lace up boots to give him a tight congratulatory hug.

“You were amazing! You totally killed it out there!”

“Yeah?” Harry laughed a little breathlessly. With the few inches her boots gave her, he ended up having to look a little up at her when she let go.

“Yes! Oh my gosh, there are people with cameras everywhere, and I’m pretty sure at least one of them caught me dancing. I love that song!”

If she was concerned about there being footage of her dancing to one of his tracks, she didn’t show it. Though considering the theme of her most recent release, maybe she just really didn’t care anymore.

“Thank you,” Harry grinned back at her.

“You were the perfect choice of opener,” Taylor declared undoubtedly. “I’m glad I don’t have to go next.”

“You always do brilliantly, Tay,” he assured her, having to stop himself from reaching out to touch her when there were other people around.

There was one more segment before Taylor’s; they stood together as they watched the monitor, a small cluster of people around them. They were being watched, too, they were aware, but they made nothing of it. They were friends. They were allowed to stand next to each other.

Taylor was bustled off partway through, crew guiding her to the wings, where she was given her microphone and had her make-up touched up by a couple artists, giving her last-minute preps like they did with the models.

As soon as she stepped on that stage, Harry’s eyes became glued to the screen mounted on the wall in front of him. Couldn’t the display be bigger? Surely there was a bigger TV somewhere?

It didn’t particularly matter: regardless of screen size, it was obvious Taylor was a captivating performer. She owned that stage and her audience, supported by her group of back-up singers and musicians. Models paraded up and down the runway, but Harry was more interested in Taylor, all dolled up and singing about how gorgeous they all were. (That included him, right? He was gorgeous too?)

She stunned in her own right, sparkly microphone projecting strong vocals. He had killed it, and she absolutely slayed.

Her smile was dazzling when she bounded off stage, immediately pulled into hugs by her model mates. She loved performing this show, surrounded by her beautiful friends; she was thankful to be invited back multiple times.

Finding Harry once again, they hugged another congratulations, this one caught by one of the behind the scenes cameramen. Neither of them noticed, Harry too busy admiring her and Taylor locked in a permanent grin.

Before he went off to change for his next performance, they were stopped by a photographer, who wanted to get a picture of them together – god knows how valuable that would be. Harry looked to Taylor to see whether she minded, and she simply smiled, “Sure.”

His arm around her waist and her hand resting on his shoulder, they posed together with true smiles they couldn’t erase. If it got out like they were sure it would, at least no one would be able to say that they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.

Switched into his pale blue suit, Harry reformed with his band side of stage. He’d gotten a few meaningful looks regarding Taylor, which he was rather pleased to say he had _shaken off_ with a grin. It would’ve been worse with the 1D lads, though he couldn’t say he didn’t miss their banter.

He finished the show with ‘Only Angel’ – it would’ve been a crime for him to come here and not sing such a fitting song. The energy was back, glistening off the parade of golden wings and Mouawad jewels.

“Is it just for aesthetic?” Harry had asked of the $2 million fantasy bra he’d heard about in rehearsal.

“I think so,” Taylor had told him backstage. “It’s not really practical. I wouldn’t mind wearing something so extravagant just once, though.”

He wouldn’t mind seeing her in it, either. Instead, he’d joked about getting robbed for your bra, of all unlikely things.

For the finale, each of the models came back to the stage, Angels up front, to a round of enthusiastic applause. All of the night’s performers returned too, walking on as a group, Taylor and Harry side by side. He never thought he’d be doing this – nobody ever expected to see them together again, professionally or otherwise. When pictures of the show started to surface before it premiered the following week, they could only imagine the storm that would inevitably arise.

Only this time, it wouldn’t matter to them.

Even without the drama of costume fixes, missing wings, and make-up retouches, backstage was still chaos after the show was finally over. There were people everywhere, all bursting with exuberance over a job well done. Screaming, hugging, selfies, and even some tears – it was madness, made all the more fun to be a part of.

Harry chatted and took photos with some of the girls (a little odd to be having a conversation with someone so casually covered only by lingerie while he stood in a suit, but enjoyable nonetheless), until they were all gathered up for their class photo.

Organising the models wasn’t too difficult – that’s what they did for a living, after all – but the room was buzzing with voices and laughter, smiles on everyone’s faces. The performers stood off to the side watching the cast of 2017, about fifty or so of the girls who had auditioned from all over the world and had been lucky enough to secure a place in the coveted fashion show, have their moment immortalised in a school-style class photo. They got to join in for one shot too, sealing their own good fortune.

“Are you going to the after party?” Taylor asked him once the models dispersed, high on energy that would propel them through the rest of the night.

“I think so, yeah. Are you?”

“Some of my best friends just had the night of their lives – of course I’m going,” she grinned, the atmosphere having clearly infected her as well. “I should probably go change; the girls and I are getting ready together back at the hotel. Wanna walk with me?”

Harry smiled back. “Sure.”

In the time after they dated all those years ago, they’d learnt how to go about sneaking around. If they were careful, no one would suspect a thing, and with both of their accompanying musicians having already departed for the hotel while they were mingling around, they were unlikely to have any more interruptions.

Assuming she was still interested. She could’ve changed her mind since their moment of impulse pre-show.

On their way to the dressing rooms, Harry tried to figure out what she was thinking, but her poker face was impenetrable. Anything could be going on up there.

When she brought him to her dressing room door, though, her name taped to the front, the frisky glint in her eyes finally gave her away.

Following her inside without requiring instruction, Harry quickly glanced around, checking that they were in fact alone. Taylor flicked the lock on the door before stepping toward him, sliding her arms around his neck, immediately quickening his heart rate.

“Did you have fun tonight?” she asked with a smile.

“A lot of fun, yeah,” he grinned back, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Fashion shows are rather different.”

“You mean you don’t regularly have girls dressed in their underwear at your shows?”

“I think most girls wear underwear to my shows,” he replied, and she rolled her eyes.

“Do _you_ wear underwear to your shows?” she cheekily challenged. He merely shrugged.

“You could check, if you’d like.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few long seconds, and as soon as they both leaned in, their electricity struck them like a lightning bolt.

Stumbling backwards, Taylor tried to get his suit buttons undone while they kissed as if they might never get another chance. She was relatively careful in getting it off him – she didn’t want to get him into trouble with any damage – but her hands were shaking from how badly she wanted him. It had been so long, she thought maybe she had finally moved on, but evidently his magnetic pull was too strong for her to fight.

They fumbled their way to the couch, where Taylor made haste in popping open his shirt buttons, revealing a flash of tattooed flesh. Harry wasn’t having as much luck: he couldn’t figure out how she had gotten into her romper in the first place, and was instead making the most of wandering hands and having her tongue in his mouth again.

“Help me,” Taylor soon mumbled against his lips, arching her body up against his.

“I don’t know the way in,” Harry admitted with a laugh, Taylor giggling as she guided his hand to the well-hidden zipper he had missed. As soon as he tugged it down, she started to slip her arms free of the fabric, letting him try to take the rest off all the way, over her boots and onto a pile on the floor.

“ _C’mon_ ,” Taylor urged when he paused a moment just to admire her again, lying on her back with her curls brushing bare shoulders. He could’ve stared at her for hours, but the matter of her unbuttoning his trousers and yanking them down his thighs was a _little_ more demanding.

“Like that, is it?” Harry smirked, and she laughed, blue eyes sparkling with lust.

“It is.”

She pulled him back down on top of him and they kissed frantically, Taylor locking her legs around his waist, hand back in his hair. It was never like this with anyone else. Nobody else drove her as insane as Harry did, made her long to take risks she knew she shouldn’t, time and time again. She hated the thought of him doing this with any other girl, and yet she didn’t really want to make him exclusively hers. It wouldn’t feel like this all the time; having the thrill sparingly was enough.

In wriggling that nearly landed both of them on the floor, Harry’s pants worked their way down around his ankles, Taylor’s underwear tossed aside. Her bra still remained – he would’ve taken it off for sure, had she not suddenly caught him off guard by putting her mouth on his chest, kissing and running her tongue over his nipple. She sucked a mark on his collarbone, a temporary indication of _mine_.

They had to be quiet, but damned if he was going to make it easy for her. With quick, hard thrusts, Harry sought reprieve from the feelings she had brought upon him, always fucking brought upon him whenever he saw her. He wanted to make her writhe, hear her scream, remind her that nobody else could fill her with the same euphoria that he could. Hard as they may try, there wasn’t anyone that she shared the same extreme lust with, that burned bright in the pit of their stomachs upon sheer sight of each other, that compelled her to rendezvous in dressing rooms despite her voice of reason telling her that such a thing was too much of a risk for someone like her.

Perhaps if Harry weren’t so young, so audacious, so undeniably damn _gorgeous_ , Taylor could resist. But when so much of her life was public, it was a thrill to have a fun little secret.

Especially when she scratched her manicured nails down the secret’s back and his rhythm faltered, hips jerking hard against her own. Taylor loved playing him like this; she gripped his ass and urged him to keep going, her body moving underneath his in perfect sync.

Between messy kisses and slamming thrusts, hungry grabs and scratching nails, desperate sounds broke through, threatening to give them away. Taylor sunk her teeth into his shoulder, sure to leave a clear indent, the pain oddly arousing. He clapped a hand over her mouth as he shifted his angle, giving short shallow thrusts that filled her completely, only letting go when she bit his fingers remorselessly, afraid she was fierce enough to draw blood. Instead, they muffled each other’s sounds with another kiss as their senses heightened to release into pure ecstasy.

Together, they lay panting in a tangle of sweaty limbs, hearts pounding and minds glazed over with bliss. Harry peppered her jaw with lighter kisses, trailing down her neck while she stroked his hair, the death grip she had had on him eased with her release.

“Okay?”

“Perfect,” Taylor sighed back, smiling dazedly as he lifted his head. She rested a hand on his cheek, kissed him slowly, the gentleness such a contrast to the rough moment of passion they’d just shared.

No matter how they did it, no matter how long it had been since the last, they were always so damn tender afterwards, as if love were still in their vocabulary.

Soon they shifted, sitting up, looking quite the spectacle with Harry leaning back against the sofa with his pants creased around his ankles and his shirt wide open, Taylor lounging against the armrest in nothing but her bra and boots. Instead of moving on right away, she draped her legs over his lap; both wished they were in the safety of a hotel room, with no pressure of time.

“What are you doing after the party?” she asked, and he smirked, closing his eyes as he rested his head back against the wall.

“You, I was hoping.”

Taylor laughed, letting her own eyes fall shut as he fondly ran a hand over her thigh.

“D’you think we have more time now?”

“You know what happens when you say one more time. All of a sudden it’s been an hour, you’re about to pass out, and I’m so sore the next day I don’t want to do anything but lie down.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Both giggling at the truth of it, Taylor nudged his chest with her knee, smiling at him.

“If you can get it up for me within the next minute, I’ll consider giving into your request.”

Grabbing her hand and wrapping it around himself to the sound of her laughter, it took little coaxing to fill his part of the bargain. The longer they took, the greater the risk, but as she moved onto his lap and he glided through her slickness with ease, she thought a few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

And it wouldn’t, not really. They weren’t attached enough for their inevitable parting to notably sting, not like it had when they had first begun playing this game. They were older, perhaps not as wise as they should be, but they were friends who liked to fool around, and, for the most part, they were okay with that.

When Harry had signed on to do the show, it had been a fleeting fantasy to wonder if he may just get to bed a girl who wore Victoria’s Secret. Only he’d thought it would be a model, not a songwriter who looked like she could be on that stage as one of the Angels.

An angel but a devil between the sheets, Taylor was his vice and Harry was hers, and there was nothing they could do about it.


End file.
